


Ivory Tower

by rosa_himmelblau



Category: Wiseguy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 14:54:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: Vinnie is only a bird in a guilded cage.





	Ivory Tower

The sheets were the softest Vinnie had ever felt.

Two rooms away, the front door slammed. Sonny leaving. Who knew when he'd come back, but Vinnie knew he **would** be back. He was paying for the apartment, after all. He'd be back if only to tell Vinnie to get out of it.

Vinnie didn't know when that would happen. Maybe it wouldn't. For a happily married man, Sonny seemed to want to—

Sonny seemed to want **him** an awful lot. And an awful lot of the time. Good thing he always knew where to find him.

Vinnie had been holed up in the most extravagant, expensive apartment he'd ever seen—he'd been there, hiding and worrying, for the last three weeks, ever since he'd told Sonny about the hit Patrice was planning, and what the OCB was planning, and—

Vinnie had expected Sonny to—he'd expected anger, he'd expected Sonny to be mad at him, to feel betrayed, and to express that feeling of betrayal, he'd expected—

The punch in the face, that had been what Vinnie'd been expecting, and he got that. But after that punch had come kisses, and after that, well, when Vinnie looked at his suit in the morning, it looked as though it had been attacked by wild dogs. His body was bruised, torn, bloody, exhausted—and it had had three orgasms rung out of it. 

In the morning, Sonny got him fresh clothes from his apartment, snuck him down the back elevator to the parking garage, and whisked him away to Manhattan, to an apartment so extravagant, it made the Royal Diamond look like the room in the Pier Motel Sonny had moved him out of.

Well, almost. But Sonny had filled this place with every secret creature comfort he could come up with. And Vinnie understood perfectly well that he was the most recent addition. The apartment was for Sonny; the opulent furnishings and gorgeous view were no more there for Vinnie's comfort than those impossibly soft sheets were there to make the bed happy.

"So what the hell am I doing here?"

Vinnie asked himself that question every day, and twice on Sunday, just after Sonny left. How he was getting away from both work and Theresa, Vinnie didn't know. (He'd married Theresa, Vinnie knew that much by the gold wedding ring he took off just before he took off his shorts to fuck Vinnie.) How he was getting there without being followed by a posse of LEOS and feds was an even bigger question, but they weren't exactly talking a lot, probably because it was difficult to talk with Sonny's tongue in his mouth.

It wasn't always his tongue that was there, either. Sonny was doing things to him Vinnie didn't even know could be done.

Vinnie hadn't made his call-in since he'd gone against Frank's specific orders and told Sonny everything he wasn't supposed to. He knew they were looking for him; they probably thought he was dead. Sonny was hiding him, his own personal stolen fed-turned-sex toy, hiding him from everybody. Everything about this set-up seemed to incite Sonny, to arouse him the way those mythical aphrodisiacs were supposed to. All he wanted to do was fuck Vinnie, over and over again, whisper in his ear that Vinnie was his, oh, my God, Vinnie was his.

Vinnie couldn't argue with that. Vinnie was his all right, Vinnie had been his since long before he'd found himself naked on Sonny's living room floor with Sonny using his dick as a battering ram, tearing down that last wall that stood between them.

Vinnie had been crying, but not because it hurt. He'd been crying because he wanted it so bad, and because it was never going to work—Sonny's idea of how to solve a Rubik's cube was to smash it with a hammer and reassemble it with crazy glue, and Vinnie had handed Sonny the hammer and pointed him to his life.

Did they think he was dead? Vinnie didn't know. When he was alone, he watched a lot of TV, but only the movie stations, nothing with any news. There was a world out there, but Vinnie was living in a snow globe sitting on the highest shelf of a curio cabinet on the topmost floor of a skyscraper. The world meant nothing to him; the world couldn't touch him. Only Sonny kept showing up to shake up the globe.

He knew it couldn't last. He couldn't live a life devoted to nothing more than watching TV and being nailed by Sonny. Eventually they'd find him—somebody would find him—and then it would be all over, one way or the other.

But in the meantime, he'd have Sonny, who couldn't keep his hands or his eyes off him. Vinnie knew what he should be feeling—he should be dreading the future, he should be afraid of what was going to happen to him. But what he felt instead was gratitude. For however long—or short—this lasted, Sonny was his. Maybe only in those moments Sonny was inside this apartment, maybe only in those moments when Sonny was inside Vinnie—it didn't matter.

Vinnie had never believed he could have Sonny at all. He'd take what he could get, and pay the bill when it came due.

**Author's Note:**

> Some charming, yet anonymous, friend gave me a remarkable request. It was filled with plot, characterization, complications, subtleties—it's an incredible suggestion that could easily lead have to yet another unfinished novel on my hard drive.
> 
> Instead, I wrote this. *g*
> 
> If you are the one who inspired this story, please let me know so I can properly gift this to you.


End file.
